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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22925359">divinity</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/featherx/pseuds/featherx'>featherx</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Sex, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, top mbyleth/bottom linhardt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 06:22:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,009</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22925359</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/featherx/pseuds/featherx</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Linhardt doesn’t do… <i>this</i> often. Usually he does it in the shower, temperature set to the coldest possible setting, where all evidence could be washed off in under a minute and he could leave his shame behind him in the bathroom. Or if he <i>had</i> to do it in bed, then it was always at night, under the blankets, with his door firmly locked—the embarrassment of it all usually fell away by morning, if he didn’t completely forget about it altogether.</p><p>But. Well. When Byleth had touched the inside of his wrist today during the tactics meeting, and bent down just slightly to whisper something in his ear, hot breath fanning across his neck…</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Linhardt von Hevring/My Unit | Byleth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>347</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>divinity</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i cannot fucking believe this is my 100th work</p><p>anyway. some pwp byhardts for the soul!! i say soul because they do, in fact, act like complete idiots throughout the whole thing. also take the d/s tag with a grain of salt since i don't think it's that evident throughout the fic itself. there's also a bit of strength kink but i got lazy to tag<br/>also for my own sanity linhardt (and the rest of the former students) call byleth by his name post-timeskip since. duh</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“A-Ah…”</p><p>Linhardt doesn’t do… <em> this </em> often. Usually he does it in the shower, temperature set to the coldest possible setting, where all evidence could be washed off in under a minute and he could leave his shame behind him in the bathroom. Or if he <em> had </em> to do it in bed, then it was always at night, under the blankets, with his door firmly locked—the embarrassment of it all usually fell away by morning, if he didn’t completely forget about it altogether.</p><p>But. Well. When Byleth had touched the inside of his wrist today during the tactics meeting, and bent down just slightly to whisper something in his ear, hot breath fanning across his neck…</p><p>Linhardt bites back another humiliating moan as his dick throbs with need at the very memory of it. Byleth had been so <em> close. </em> When he had returned five years after the battle at Garreg Mach, Linhardt had needed to stop having throwaway one night stands with random soldiers because it had felt like cheating—which is ridiculous, considering Linhardt and Byleth had never even been <em> together, </em> but the point still stands. Now Linhardt regrets no longer having an outlet for his sexual frustrations, though, because it leads to problems like <em> this. </em></p><p>If there hadn’t been anyone else in the council room… if it had just been the two of them… Linhardt swallows and quickens his strokes, trying to keep his heavy breathing to a minimum. What would Byleth do? Or, more accurately, what does Linhardt want Byleth to do? Definitely bend him over the table—Linhardt groans just thinking about it. He never gets tired of this particular daydream, whether it takes place in the classroom or the library or literally anywhere with a table. It doesn’t even have to be a table, just any surface where Byleth could push Linhardt up against and force down upon…</p><p>And then? What next? So many possibilities for something so impossible. Linhardt shudders at the thought of Byleth fingering him open—he’s seen Byleth’s hands, has healed cuts and scabs on those palms dozens of times, and he knows just how rough and callused they are. To have <em> those </em> inside him has Linhardt struggling to stay quiet as he rubs the head of his dick, smearing pre-cum along himself. Then after his fingers, the only logical action would be…</p><p>Wait, how is Linhardt supposed to suck him off now? He sighs internally and rearranges the daydream in his head, so that he can get on his knees before Byleth and free the cock straining against his clothes. <em> Goddess, </em> what Linhardt would give to actually do this. He gives up on keeping quiet and moans under his breath as he imagines wrapping his lips around that thick shaft… Byleth’s hands gripping his hair and tugging it out of its bun… Byleth <em> forcing </em> him to take the entirety of him in his mouth, and Linhardt can’t even think of fighting against his strength… “Ngh, B-Byleth…”</p><p>“Linhardt?”</p><p>Linhardt swears to the Saints—he has never been more grateful for a convenient blanket to yank over himself. His first instinct is to cast a Wind spell at whoever had spoken, both to blow them back and to slam his door shut—</p><p>But then he turns around, and of all people it’s Byleth who’s standing there and staring at him. He looks like a deer, frozen in front of a carriage. “Oh,” he says, voice very small.</p><p>“Oh,” Linhardt echoes, just as tiny. Does Byleth not have the common sense to <em> knock </em> before barging in someone’s room? Or maybe he had, and Linhardt had just been too caught up in his own head to have heard. “What… What are you…”</p><p>“I was… going to return this,” Byleth somehow responds, holding up a book in his hand. A book on reason magic Linhardt had lent him the other day, in fact. As if the situation couldn’t get any worse, he adds, very softly, “You… You said my name.”</p><p>“I did not.”</p><p>“You did.” Byleth’s flush reaches all the way to the tips of his ears. Under normal circumstances, Linhardt would be memorizing this detail to perfection, but right now all he can think about is if there are any spells that erase memory. “I heard you.”</p><p>Linhardt scowls. “Fine! You heard me, whatever, what does it <em> matter </em> if I said your name. Do you want to hear it again?” This whole thing is embarrassing enough, so can’t Byleth just turn around, walk away, pretend he hadn’t seen nor heard anything, and leave Linhardt to wallow in his misery and humiliation, like any <em> polite </em> person would do?</p><p>Unexpectedly enough, Byleth somehow turns even redder and averts his gaze, fumbling with the book in his hands. “I… Um… I mean. You don’t have to… to stop on my account.”</p><p>It takes a moment for the words to register in Linhardt’s head. “I… What?”</p><p>“N-Never mind,” Byleth stammers—</p><p>“No, you just said—” This is a mess. Linhardt wants to forget this had ever happened, but at the same time… there feels like an opportunity lying in wait in here, one he can take to turn this situation into something entirely different. “Um… Byleth,” Linhardt says, intentionally shifting his legs a little so the blanket falls just slightly.</p><p>He regrets the action near immediately when he sees Byleth’s eyes follow the movement, gaze latching onto the strip of pale skin on his thigh. Okay! Great. This is not even remotely going in the direction Linhardt thought it would.</p><p>“Yes?” Byleth mutters, adoringly shy.</p><p>Linhardt clears his throat and gestures for Byleth to come in—Byleth hesitantly does so, pushing the door closed behind him as well. <em> Oh, so he probably knows what’s going to happen, then, </em> Linhardt thinks, feeling a little dizzy at the realization. “You look like you have something to say,” he tells him, very slowly. “Are you wondering <em> why </em> I said your name?”</p><p>After a moment’s pause, Byleth manages a jerky nod.</p><p>“Well, I was… I was thinking of you.”</p><p><em> Oh, no, how could he have ever figured that out! </em> some sarcastic voice in his head yells. <em> Can’t you be just a little bit more, I don’t know… appealing? </em> “I was thinking of… of what you might do,” Linhardt hurries to add, feeling stupider by the second. Why did he think this would work again?</p><p>But Byleth doesn’t seem dissuaded by Linhardt’s less-than-stellar wording, instead leaning forward almost imperceptibly. “What did I do?” he asks, voice hushed. “To… To you?”</p><p>Okay. Alright. Maybe there’s a <em> bit </em> of hope in this after all. “Come closer,” Linhardt instructs, tilting his chin up a little. He moves again, and the blanket moves along with him, revealing more of his bare thighs. Byleth, staring at the movement with the determination he usually saves for the battlefield, stumbles on a stray book on the floor on the way closer and sends Linhardt into unbidden giggles.</p><p>“It’s not funny,” Byleth pouts. “You need to clean up your room. Someone’s bound to get a concussion in here.”</p><p>“So? I can always heal them. And it would be their fault, anyway, for not paying more attention to their surroundings.” Byleth’s close enough now for Linhardt to reach up and touch his cheek, sliding his hand down to his neck—when Byleth swallows, Linhardt’s fingers follow the movement of his throat. “Now. Sit down. Where were we?”</p><p>The instant Byleth gets on the bed with him, Linhardt pushes him to lie on his back and straddles him with his knees—Byleth, for his part, looks like shock has paralyzed him from moving. “W-Wait,” Byleth stutters, “what are you… what’s…”</p><p>Linhardt tucks a loose strand of hair behind his ear, taking a bit of satisfaction at how Byleth follows the movement again. For someone so quick to act on the battlefield, it looks like the only thing he can do in the bedroom is watch. “If you want me to stop, I will.”</p><p>Predictably, Byleth stays silent, although the blush high on his cheeks says it all.</p><p>“I thought so.” Linhardt settles atop him, trying to keep as neutral an expression as possible when his still-hard erection brushes against Byleth’s thigh. In contrast, the look in Byleth’s eye morphs from surprised to something more… intense, Linhardt thinks. <em> Predatory, </em> almost. “I was thinking,” Linhardt continues, now somewhat concerned about how much he’s overused the words, “about how you might fuck me.”</p><p>Instead of sputtering out an embarrassed response, Byleth only nods up at him as if entranced. Linhardt can’t say he dislikes how it looks. “And?” Byleth asks, voice husky. “What do you want, Linhardt?”</p><p>His tone comes out low, <em> suggestive, </em> and Linhardt can feel his dick twitching in interest. “You could bend me over the table in the council room and do me there,” he whispers, placing his lips as close to Byleth’s ear as possible. Like this, he can <em> feel </em> Byleth shiver beneath him. “Or in the library, where it’s so quiet I’d have to struggle to be the same, lest we want others overhearing us…”</p><p>“Not in the library, then,” Byleth interjects. Linhardt only has time to blink down as he tugs his gloves off before Byleth wraps long, rough fingers around his damp cock beneath the blankets, and Linhardt bucks his hips forward with a surprised groan. “If you… If you want me to fuck you, I want to make you scream.”</p><p>“Oh—ah, <em> Byleth,</em>” Linhardt bites out, burying his face in Byleth’s shoulder as he palms his dick. Logically thinking, it shouldn’t feel as different as when he does it on his own, and yet the mere fact that it’s <em> Byleth </em> jerking him off has him shaking and leaking all over Byleth’s hand. The hand he had just been fantasizing about.</p><p>Goddess, how had this happened again? What is up with Linhardt’s luck today?</p><p>“Wait—wait,” Linhardt pants, wanting to die of shame at how <em> needy </em> he sounds. Byleth dutifully pauses in his movements, looking up at Linhardt with a mix of fascination and—oh—<em>lust </em> in his gaze. “I don’t—not yet,” Linhardt manages.</p><p>The words don’t make sense together, but somehow Byleth seems to understand—he nods and slowly, <em> reluctantly, </em> lets go of him. “What… else did you think of?” he asks.</p><p>“This,” Linhardt says, and shifts down to unbuckle Byleth’s belt.</p><p>“O—<em>Oh,</em>” Byleth stammers, obligingly lifting himself off to make it easier for Linhardt to tug his pants down—he watches, endearingly attentive, as Linhardt pulls his smallclothes out of the way and give his half-hard cock a tentative lick. “L-Linhardt,” he murmurs, arousal thick in his voice, one hand coming to rest atop Linhardt’s head.</p><p>Linhardt looks up to meet his eyes. “You can do whatever you like, alright?” he says, right before he takes Byleth in his mouth.</p><p>He first hears the groan Byleth lets out—he’s accustomed enough to the taste of dick to more or less ignore it—and then Byleth’s grip on his hair tightening <em> hard. </em> Linhardt moans around his mouthful as Byleth pulls at his hair, urging him forward, and Linhardt readily submits to the strength behind the force. He swirls his tongue around Byleth’s cock, bobs his head up and down, presses his teeth to the slit—every motion he had learned over the past five years finally being put to their intended use.</p><p>Byleth’s frame trembles with pleasure, grip tightening and loosening in sporadic measures, until finally Linhardt gathers enough courage to take his cock the rest of the way in. The reaction is immediate and gratifying—Byleth gasps out his name, “<em>Linhardt, </em> oh,” the syllables strung brokenly together like wooden beads on a fraying string. “Y—You’re so good,” he says, stroking Linhardt’s hair with unsteady fingers. “You’re so pretty like this… good boy, Lin…”</p><p><em> Fuck, </em> Linhardt thinks, somewhere in the back of his hazy mind, <em> he had to say that. </em> It takes everything in him not to grind his aching dick against the bed, half because he’d rather not leave stains the monastery staff are going to question him for on laundry day and half because he wants to come from something other than fabric friction. He pauses for a moment to take a deep breath, then continues licking and sucking and drawing out those sweet sounds from Byleth’s lips. In another second it’s Byleth’s turn to say “Wait,” his hand shakily pulling Linhardt off his cock. “I—um, Linhardt—”</p><p>“What is it?” Linhardt asks, trying not to be too embarrassed at how hoarse he sounds. Taking all of Byleth in hadn’t been easy. “Did I… oh. Did I do something wrong?” It would be terribly in-character of him to screw up <em> now, </em> of all times.</p><p>Byleth shakes his head, cheeks still flushed and eyes still half-lidded. He leans forward and thumbs Linhardt’s mouth open, swiping off what looks like pre-cum off his tongue. “Can I come…” His flush intensifies. “Um, only if you’re alright with it…”</p><p>Linhardt smiles, settling on the bed beside Byleth. “Inside?” he prompts, and Byleth’s blush is response enough. “Sure. You know, you didn’t have to ask.”</p><p>“I… wanted to be sure. Consent is important.”</p><p>“You almost came in my mouth and I almost came in your hand,” Linhardt points out, stamping down the embarrassed heat that rises to his cheeks when he says the words. “I think that’s consent enough.”</p><p>“My point stands.” Byleth props himself up on his elbows, absently prodding at Linhardt’s lips again. Linhardt acquiesces and opens his mouth, not quite sure where this is going, until Byleth slips a finger inside and Linhardt almost chokes from shock. “What?” Byleth asks, a teasing undertone to his voice. “Are you surprised? You look cute like this.”</p><p><em> Ugh. Ugh. Uughhh. </em> Linhardt wants to die of embarrassment, though that’s a small wish at best compared to the lust overtaking his rational thoughts. All he can do is suck at Byleth’s fingers in his mouth with as much fervor as he had with his dick, his hands coming up to clutch at Byleth’s wrist. Byleth presses down on his tongue with way too much strength to be human—Linhardt nearly melts at the force. “I like hearing your voice,” Byleth murmurs, his other hand coming up to brush stray hair out of Linhardt’s face, “but… this looks nice too.”</p><p>“Mmph,” is all Linhardt can really say. With a small, soft smile, Byleth retracts his fingers, and Linhardt takes the chance to say, “You are a sick, sick pervert,” except it comes out as, “Can you <em> please </em>just fuck me already?”</p><p>Byleth frowns. “So impatient.”</p><p>“Forgive me,” Linhardt scoffs. “I’ve been waiting five years. I’d really rather not wait any longer than I must.”</p><p>“F—” Byleth blinks. “Five years?”</p><p>Linhardt sighs, as overly dramatically as possible. “Oh, to be seventeen years old, dreaming about my professor fucking me over my table in the classroom, then waking up in the middle of the night with incredible disappointment and the sudden realization I was attracted to you.”</p><p>Instead of replying to just about everything else Linhardt had said, Byleth goes with, “You have a thing for tables.”</p><p>“Really! I hadn’t noticed.”</p><p>Byleth shuffles around until their earlier positions are reversed, with Linhardt lying on his bed and Byleth hovering awkwardly above him. “Sorry we can’t do it on a table,” he apologizes, sounding genuinely regretful—which is an almost comical contrast with how roughly he lifts Linhardt’s thighs up, like it’s no big deal and his strength doesn’t make Linhardt’s head spin. “Maybe next time?”</p><p>Linhardt can’t even function properly from his touch alone, and now Byleth’s dropping a <em> next time </em> on him? He feels seconds away from passing out entirely. “I. Um. That’s…”</p><p>Byleth’s eyes widen. “Unless you don’t want to. Which is fine. I-I don’t mind at all. I wouldn’t be sad or anything.”</p><p>“What? I can’t have that.” Linhardt hooks his ankles around Byleth, digging his heels against his back and watching in amusement as Byleth’s eyes darken from arousal. “If you’re going to fuck me, <em> Professor,</em>” he whispers, “I want you to come back. Again and again and again.”</p><p>“Oh,” Byleth says, as if realizing something for the first time; then, “<em>Oh,</em>” lower and fiercer and frighteningly similar to how he sounds during battle. “Spread your legs then, Linhardt,” he says—<em>orders, </em> really, like he’s issuing commands on the field, and Linhardt shudders as he obeys. Byleth runs his hands down Linhardt’s thigh and leg, all the way until his calf—his touch is tender at first, soft and almost <em> loving, </em> then turns into a mercilessly tight grip around his knees. “Tell me what you want.”</p><p>“W-What?”</p><p>“Tell me what you want me to do to you.” Byleth’s hand shifts lower until he squeezes Linhardt’s ass—Linhardt forcibly suppresses what he’s sure would have been a mortifying moan. “Or… Or else I won’t know what you want.”</p><p>He probably means to sound more… <em> sensual, </em> but his last words come out more unsure than anything. Again. Linhardt sighs, caught between feeling a little exasperated and more than a little endeared. “Start with your fingers,” he advises, lifting his ass up. Byleth looks like he’s trying to tamp down the rising color in his cheeks. “Then pound me into the bed.”</p><p>“N-No!” Byleth stammers out. “I mean, isn’t that a little… dangerous?”</p><p>Linhardt rolls his eyes. “That’s the <em> appeal, </em> Byleth.” Then, when Byleth still looks unsure, he carefully adds, “I’m not your student anymore. More accurately, you don’t have to treat me like a student anymore. I don’t think most of us ever saw you as much of a professor than a friend, anyway.”</p><p>“That’s a bit discouraging,” Byleth mutters, but he looks rather pleased all the same.</p><p>“Why, were you planning to pursue a career in the academe?”</p><p>Unexpectedly enough, something cold presses against Linhardt’s entrance, and he jerks in both surprise and sudden pleasure—Byleth looks entirely too self-satisfied for the occasion, and he rubs further around the area. “I don’t know,” he says, slowly; “maybe only with you.”</p><p>Linhardt means to say something smart and provocative to throw Byleth off again, but all that leaves his mouth is a low gasp. Byleth is just <em> barely </em> touching him—it takes what feels like forever until he finally slips a spit-slick finger inside Linhardt, and when he does he has to <em> pause </em> and look up at Linhardt. “Is this okay?”</p><p>“I would tell you if it weren’t,” Linhardt mumbles.</p><p>“Oh. Right. Okay. Makes sense.” Byleth swallows as he pushes the digit further in—Linhardt exhales harshly, feeling his hips quiver in response. The seconds tick by with Byleth only fingering him open, so ridiculously slowly that Linhardt can’t possibly see how Byleth can be enjoying this—yet when he cracks his eyes open, already feeling his face muscles strain from how hard he had kept them squeezed shut, Byleth is staring down at where his fingers (now two) meet Linhardt’s hole.</p><p>Byleth blinks and looks up again, meeting his gaze. “Sorry,” he murmurs, looking abashed. “But Linhardt, you look… you feel so…” He shakes his head as if to will the blush out of his cheeks. “I don’t know. I can’t find a good enough word to describe you.”</p><p>Annoyingly enough, the words <em> are </em> enough—to make his heart flutter wildly around like a deranged butterfly, anyway. Linhardt sighs and leans up, just to wrap his arms around Byleth’s neck and draw him closer. “That’s very romantic and all,” he tells him, running a hand through Byleth’s messy hair, “but if you keep <em> teasing…</em>” The only thing keeping him from fucking himself on Byleth’s fingers is his own laziness and the desire to see (and feel) Byleth take control.</p><p>“Sorry,” Byleth apologizes again, his other hand coming up to push Linhardt’s hair out of his face. The motion is so unexpectedly <em> tender </em> that Linhardt barely notices when Byleth pulls his fingers out of him and prods at his entrance with something decidedly larger. “You’re sure, right?”</p><p>“<em>Yes.</em>”</p><p>Linhardt’s half-expecting more meek apologies, so a surprised gasp tears its way out of his mouth when Byleth enters him—already he knows this is far more different than every other one night stand Linhardt has ever shamefully engaged in, because Byleth instantly asks, “Are you—”</p><p>“I am <em> perfectly fine,</em>” Linhardt says, his voice coming out more than a little desperate. “Please, Byleth—I’ll tell you if I’m not, alright? I promise.”</p><p>“Okay, I just—” Byleth sighs and leans down, nipping his neck—Linhardt murmurs appreciatively, pulling lightly at the long, uneven hair at the base of Byleth’s neck. Byleth’s hands slip beneath Linhardt’s blouse, the only article of clothing he had bothered to keep on his person, and Linhardt shivers at the feeling of his cool palms on his stomach. “I think about you all the time, too,” he mumbles, lips still pressed to Linhardt’s throat.</p><p>“O-Oh.” Linhardt tries not to swallow nervously. For the past several minutes, this whole situation has felt like a fever dream he would be waking up from any second now to find out he had passed out from sexual frustration or something, but those words, from this person… Somehow, they make everything feel more real. “I… Byleth.”</p><p>The red on Byleth’s cheeks appears to be permanent. “Linhardt.”</p><p>Ugh, now just saying his name makes Linhardt feel like a blushing virgin? “I appreciate the sentiment. I do. But I would also <em> greatly </em> appreciate it if you could just fuck me already.”</p><p>Byleth gives one of his rare smiles, although this one looks closer to a smirk than anything. “Okay. You asked for it.”</p><p>Finally, <em> finally, </em> he pushes deeper into Linhardt without an excess of unsureness—Linhardt’s hands fly up to grip Byleth’s hair again, muffling his groan into his shoulder as he tries to look down at them. The sight of Byleth’s cock disappearing inside him makes Linhardt feel ready to both collapse and come at the same time—either way would be embarrassing, so he squeezes his eyes shut and buries his face back in Byleth’s shoulder, whimpering when Byleth slowly bottoms out. Linhardt doesn’t think he’s ever felt this <em> full </em>in his life.</p><p>A hand comes up to stroke Linhardt’s hair, fingers running through the strands. “Lin,” Byleth whispers, and <em> oh, </em> does Linhardt adore hearing that nickname from him. “You feel… amazing.”</p><p>“Mm. You, too. Certainly a step up from faceless soldiers.”</p><p>“Soldier—<em>what?</em> <em>Who?</em>” Byleth exclaims, now sounding far more distressed than the situation calls for.</p><p>Linhardt sighs. “Oh, you know, just some men who looked like you… why so surprised? Do you feel threatened now, Byleth?” He grins, slow and languorous, at the hungry look in Byleth’s eyes. “Let’s see, if you don’t make this memorable enough, I might just change my mind about having a ‘next time…’”</p><p>“How memorable do you want it?” Byleth returns, and before Linhardt can even think of a witty enough response, he <em> thrusts </em> into him without bothering to wait—Linhardt’s voice catches on a high moan, and he scrabbles for purchase on Byleth’s back. “How much of this do you want to remember? If you’re not careful, it might be too much.”</p><p>“So <em> sure </em> of yourself,” Linhardt manages, hoping Byleth can politely ignore how his voice shakes with his every movement. “Well, go on, Professor,” he taunts; “why don’t you make sure I never forget this?”</p><p>Byleth’s eyes darken until they almost look like their old, dark blue shade—which is all the warning Linhardt gets before Byleth thrusts into him again, somehow harder and deeper than last time, and Linhardt’s entire body jerks in sheer pleasure. “Fuck,” he breathes, clutching Byleth’s hair in a death grip, “<em>fuck, </em> just like that, <em> finally—</em>” He moans incoherently as Byleth’s cock hits his prostate, sending paralyzing ecstasy racing through him. “There, please, right t-there, Byleth…”</p><p>So this whole time, the only thing Linhardt had needed to do was make Byleth jealous? He really should have done it several minutes earlier, then. Or maybe several months.</p><p>“Lin…” Byleth muffles his own groan into Linhardt’s shoulder; then, without warning, he grabs Linhardt’s wrists and pins him down on the bed, still keeping up his merciless pace. Linhardt shudders, putting up a token effort to get out from Byleth’s grip, but his effortless strength leaves no room for even a showy struggle. “Can I make you come like this?” he asks, leaning down to brush his lips over Linhardt’s chest.</p><p>“Doubt it,” Linhardt says, just to be annoying. In truth, he wonders if Byleth actually <em> could. </em> His insides feel slick with pre-cum, and his painfully hard dick feels much the same.</p><p>Of course, whatever arrogant facade he still had falls away at the next jerk of Byleth’s hips, and Linhardt curses under his breath as he tosses his head to the side. Byleth looks entirely too self-satisfied for Linhardt’s comfort. “Really? I’d like to try anyway.”</p><p>He drags his tongue around Linhardt’s nipple—Linhardt groans, electricity zipping down his spine. “Goddess, Byleth…” He doesn’t think he’ll ever blaspheme this much in his life again. “You—You’re such a tease, you know?” Linhardt babbles, just to have something to say. “One moment you’re all shy and blushing and the next you’re—you’re f-fucking me into the sheets like a madman. What else are you—<em>ah</em>—what else are you repressing, h-hm?”</p><p>Byleth moves back up to nip at Linhardt’s neck, but the nip soon turns into a <em> bite </em> that sends a mix of pleasure and pain shooting through Linhardt’s senses. Oh, <em> that’s </em> going to leave a mark. “What else do I want to do to you?” he murmurs, more to himself than anything, as he drives himself into Linhardt again. Linhardt throws his head back with another high moan, his dick throbbing with primal, urgent need—but he can’t even jerk himself off, because, right, Byleth’s <em> still </em> holding him down with enough strength to leave bruises on his wrists.</p><p>Then, in a low whisper so thick with arousal it seems to color the air red—“I want to make you beg, Linhardt.”</p><p>“B—By—” Linhardt’s near-incoherent again, because Byleth’s pace is relentless, speeding up with every thrust—all he can do is whimper desperately with each movement, squeezing his eyes shut so hard he can feel them watering. It feels so <em> good, </em> Byleth’s cock filling him up and stuffing him full, and the knowledge that it’s <em> Byleth </em> automatically makes this a hundred times better. He wants to come so terribly, his dick aching for some merciful friction, but he barely even has the strength to keep his legs spread, much less break free from Byleth’s grip. If that’s even possible.</p><p>Linhardt cracks his eyes open a slit, too distracted to be embarrassed about the tear that slips out—it probably isn’t anything to be embarrassed about anyway, if the way Byleth watches his face with fascination is any indication—and attempts to say something, but the only sounds that fall from his lips are more breathless, broken gasps.</p><p>Byleth opens his own mouth to speak, but he only gets as far as “Do you—” before Linhardt manages to gather enough energy to clench down <em> hard</em>. Byleth cuts himself off with a low groan, one he buries in Linhardt’s shoulder, and Linhardt tries not to look too satisfied with himself. “Lin,” he protests, “you can’t—just do that, you’re so…”</p><p>“So?” Linhardt prompts, speaking against Byleth’s ear—he presses a kiss just beneath it, brushing loose hair away from tan skin.</p><p>“So hot,” Byleth breathes, thrusting in again. Linhardt curses the Saints again, leaning away from Byleth before he can sound any more embarrassing. “So tight, Lin, you’re so—ah, you feel so perfect, you’re doing so well for me—”</p><p>Linhardt inhales harshly at the praise, trying not to be too obvious about it, but Byleth seems to catch on all the same. “You like that, don’t you? Being praised?” Byleth asks, one of his hands moving down to rest just above the curve of Linhardt’s ass. “I remember now. You were always acting strangely when I told you how you did well during class.”</p><p>“T-That’s…”</p><p>“Did you touch yourself to that, too?”</p><p>“<em>Byleth,</em>” Linhardt whines, giving in to his desperation and bucking his hips upwards—Byleth’s cock sinks even deeper into him, and they both groan at the sensation. Linhardt can feel his entire body tense and quivering, but it’s still, <em> still </em> not enough to make him come—he’s so hard it’s almost painful, and he’s leaked so much all over himself that he looks straight out of some lascivious book illustration. “Please, please…”</p><p>Byleth strokes his cheek with his thumb, wiping away a stray tear. “You’re… beautiful, you know,” he murmurs, the lust in his voice replaced by that same tenderness again.</p><p><em> Ugh… </em> Linhardt doesn’t know if <em> this </em> sort of praise is going to help at all in this situation, because he simultaneously wants Byleth to fuck him even harder and for Byleth to never say anything like that again, lest he spontaneously combust from the embarrassment. “That’s… Byleth, please…”</p><p>“Please what?” Byleth presses his lips to the underside of Linhardt’s jaw. “You have to tell me, if you want me to know…”</p><p>“Please let me come,” Linhardt begs, too desperate to care. Just saying the words has more pre-cum dripping out of him and down to (oh, great) stain the sheets beneath them—as if the utter humilation of it all is what makes it feel so sinfully <em> good. </em>“Byleth, I want to—I want to c-come, please—”</p><p>Byleth meets his lips in a messy kiss, and Linhardt reflexively reciprocates before he realizes that this is the first time they’ve <em> actually </em>kissed, lips-to-lips—and that realization only spurs him on to kiss harder, to lick at the inside of Byleth’s cheek and trace the line of his teeth with his tongue until they’re gasping into each other’s mouths, Byleth fucking him harder and faster until Linhardt can tell he’s close by the way his pace turns erratic. “Lin,” Byleth murmurs, breath brushing over his lips. “Lin,” he says again, and that’s all the warning Linhardt gets before his hand comes down to wrap around his cock.</p><p>“<em>Fuck,</em>” Linhardt moans, jerking his hips into Byleth’s hand—he doesn’t even want to look down, because if he sees how much pre-cum has splattered onto those fingers then he might as well just disappear off the face of the continent. But he’s utterly shameless when he rolls his hips again and again, chasing both Byleth’s hand on his dick and cock in his ass, feeling the heat in his gut tense and coil—</p><p>—and release itself all at once as Linhardt cries out, arching his back, his jaw falling slack as he comes in Byleth’s hold. Some of it lands on his stomach, warm and wet and suddenly very indecent. Through it all Byleth watches him as if entranced, his breathing somehow even heavier than earlier and his eyes wide and dark.</p><p><em> Beautiful, </em> Linhardt remembers, and his face grows hot at the memory. Now he wishes he had listened more intently, because how is he supposed to engrave the sound of that word in Byleth’s voice in his heart forever now?</p><p>“You should’ve fucked me while I was coming,” Linhardt says instead.</p><p>Predictably enough, Byleth flushes like the past several minutes hadn’t happened. “Doesn’t that hurt?”</p><p>“Hmm. Certainly something to find out next time, then. But <em> you </em> aren’t finished yet, are you?” Linhardt leans up to kiss the skin where Byleth’s neck meets his shoulders, despite how much effort it takes him just to stay awake. “Come on. You already asked for my very important consent to come inside earlier, so you might as well follow through with it.”</p><p>“Oh. Right,” Byleth says, as if just remembering. He gulps, looking suddenly nervous, then brings his face down to tuck in the crook of Linhardt’s shoulder—the movement has him burying his dick even deeper into Linhardt, and the overstimulation has Linhardt shuddering with need. “Linhardt,” Byleth breathes, mouthing against his skin, “Lin—”</p><p>“That’s it, Professor,” Linhardt whispers, lifting his legs up as best as he can and tightening around Byleth’s cock, pretending it doesn’t make his own dick twitch in interest. “Come for me. Come <em> in </em> me, fill me up, Byleth—”</p><p>The sob that rips itself out from Byleth’s mouth is a strangled one as he spills into Linhardt, hot and wet and <em> so much </em> at once that Linhardt whimpers against Byleth’s shoulder at the sensation. In the past he had smacked away the soldiers right before they came, so this feeling of being so completely filled up has him trembling with a burst of desire. Linhardt clutches onto Byleth’s back, stroking his hair over and over, as if the action can keep both of them from losing themselves in the pleasure.</p><p>When Byleth pulls out, his thighs shaking from the effort, Linhardt swears under his breath as cum dribbles wetly out of his hole—it feels so <em> dirty, </em> and yet Linhardt has no doubt he is going to tell Byleth, in no uncertain terms, that he never has to ask for his permission to do this again. “S-Sorry,” Byleth stammers, though he’s staring fixedly down at Linhardt’s ass without a hint of shame. “We, um… made a mess on the bed.”</p><p>“Oh, whatever.” Linhardt can figure out what to tell the monastery staff on laundry day. “Just—can you get those tissues over there… thank you.”</p><p>They wipe themselves off as hastily as possible—or at least Byleth does, because Linhardt doesn’t even have the strength to lift his arms for more than thirty seconds before his muscles give up on him, so Byleth has to clean him up. In the end, though, when Linhardt curls up in bed beneath the (thankfully unstained) blankets, it only takes one hesitant second and one meaningful look before Byleth joins him on the other side.</p><p>“So…” Byleth stares at him, one hand reaching to finger-comb Linhardt’s hair. Linhardt sighs and leans into the touch. “Linhardt.”</p><p>“Yes, Byleth.”</p><p>“I think I might be in love with you.”</p><p>Linhardt has to close his eyes and count from one to ten before he’s sure his voice won’t wobble when he speaks. “You think?”</p><p>“I’m <em> sure,</em>” Byleth amends, a small smile gracing his lips. “Though I… admit I wasn’t expecting this at all.”</p><p>“Really? What were you expecting, then?”</p><p>“I don’t know.” Byleth shrugs. He continues speaking even when Linhardt’s eyes are half-closed, and Linhardt appreciates the lack of judgment. It isn’t as if he can control how sleepy he’s getting. “Flowers, maybe. I reserved flower seeds from Anna a long time ago, so she’d sell them to me right away if she managed to get a hand on them…”</p><p>Linhardt yawns, pressing his face against Byleth’s chest. There’s no reassuring heartbeat to listen to, but it’s fine—he makes do with Byleth’s breathing instead, a steady rise and fall Linhardt doesn’t think he will ever get tired of hearing. “What are they?”</p><p>“Jewelled shooting stars.” A pause. “They mean ‘my divinity.’”</p><p>“That is disgustingly romantic of you.” Linhardt kisses a spot above his collarbone anyway, smiling at how Byleth’s breath hitches at the touch of his lips. “You can still get them for me, though, next time. Maybe that next time will be when there’s a convenient table nearby… and by the way,” he adds, carefully carelessly, “I love you too. This, I’m sure about.”</p><p>“O-Oh.” Linhardt can <em> feel </em> Byleth blushing from here. After another moment’s hesitation, Byleth’s arms wrap around Linhardt, his hand coming to rest in Linhardt’s hair. “Lin…”</p><p>“Any more declarations of love to lay at my feet? I’d be happy to hear them…” Linhardt yawns again, the calling for sleep far too strong to ignore now. “After… a nice long nap. One where I get to wake up beside you.”</p><p>“Okay.” Byleth smiles—Linhardt can hear it in his voice. “Good night, my love.”</p><p><em> Cheesy, </em> Linhardt thinks, but he smiles into Byleth’s chest all the same.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>jewelled shooting stars (also known as the american cowslip) meaning came from <a href="https://www.dropbox.com/s/7lr3mahq6l58nob/Our%20Deportment%20Flower%20Language%20Excerpt%201881.pdf">here</a></p><p>thanks for reading!! catch me on <a href="https://twitter.com/featherxs">twitter</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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